Students of the Australian National University participate in a protest after the release of the national student survey on sexual assault and sexual harassment in Canberra, Australia, 1 August 2017.
Photograph: Lukas Coch/EPA

Thousands of women have used #MeToo to share their stories of sexual harassment and assault. The power of it is not only in the high-profile cases, in bringing down the Harvey Weinsteins and Kevin Spaceys of the world. Its power also lies in uncovering sexism of a more subtle, everyday nature, which provides the foundation on which high-profile cases are built.

And it’s not just a problem on Hollywood movie sets or Australian TV shows.

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#MeTooPhD is a hashtag for university staff and students to share their experiences of sexual harassment and assault.

Stories abound of unwanted sexual advances at conferences, lewd comments in the workplace and the lack of appropriate punishment for offending male academics. The Twitter discussion raises other systemic issues like the power that professors hold over postgraduate students, the priority given to academics who bring in large amounts of research funding, and the lack of women in senior academic positions.

A crowdsourced survey has received more than 2,000 responses detailing sexual harassment in universities across the United States and Europe. Karen Kelsky, a former professor turned academic careers consultant, launched the anonymous survey to provide victims with a safe way to share their experiences. She aims to aggregate information about sexual harassment in academia and the impact it has on career progression.

Many of the cases documented in Kelsky’s survey are serious – but sexism need not reach the level of assault or harassment to warrant our condemnation. “Everyday”, casual sexism in the course of meetings and other work events is also a major concern. It fuels an outdated, patriarchal culture in which serial and serious offenders can feel permitted to, well, offend.

One particular example of academic sexism has stuck with me. During her PhD, a friend wanted to keep a line of reasoning in one of her chapters. Her supervisor disagreed and told her that arguing with her was “like arguing with his wife and mother”. She felt she couldn’t bring this up with anyone else for fear of it impacting on her degree and future career.

Other friends and colleagues have described to me the subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways in which male academics make them feel the need to prove themselves and their ideas. Once, a female colleague asked me to pass on her comments to a male academic because he wouldn’t take her ideas seriously.

Ideas are our currency, so it’s of major concern if women in academia feel theirs are not worth the same.

Another common story is of teaching evaluations littered with lewd student feedback. Apparently, many male undergraduates feel it appropriate to judge female lecturers on their bust size, leg length, or makeup application – not their knowledge or teaching ability. One colleague was propositioned through her end-of-semester surveys, with a phone number left for casual sex over the summer break. Another was told her teaching could only be improved by delivering her lectures naked.

We’d like to think this doesn’t go on in universities because we know and teach about human rights, feminism and discrimination. We’ve completed our Equal Employment Opportunity training (tick). Sexism is something that happens in other circles, usually by arrogant movie stars and football players.

Do we really think we leave this part of society behind when we move within the walls and halls of the ivory tower? The recent report on sexual assault in Australia’s universities, as well as prior cases, show that many offenders have benefited from an expensive, highly prized education. The animalistic metaphors that some Oxford and Cambridge students use to talk about women and sex would leave most people blushing with anger.

Outdated double standards also persist. Last week we had morning tea in the office for a colleague who was leaving. As the celebration was ending, I fetched a cloth from the kitchen and cleaned the table – because, you know, it was dirty and I had eaten as much as anyone else. I received multiple wide-eyed comments about being “so well trained”, even a “domestic goddess”.

Wiping a table with a cloth? Hardly Nigella. But this was doing something extra, something beyond my defined role. The female professional staff were doing much more than me, and no one took any notice of their efforts or gave any thanks to them.

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A similar dynamic can be seen when men bring their kids into the office for a meeting – oh, how adorable and progressive. Never mind the female academic who sees others around the table rolling their eyes when her child’s iPad bleeps from the back row. Or who is asked after the meeting why she couldn’t find a babysitter.

One of the things I love about working in universities is that most of the time they seem blissfully free of the sexist boys’ clubs that seem to prevail elsewhere. I have many wonderful male colleagues, mentors and supervisors – current and former – who would support everything I’ve said. They were and remain role models in this regard.

But if you start looking and asking around, it’s here too. We just need to look more closely, and #CallItOut when it happens.

• Keiran Hardy is lecturer in the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice at Griffith University